Alive
by otto-tis-eratai
Summary: Post s8. Cuddy's role in House's life. He never believed in fate, until he started seeing her literally everywhere he went. Weird/angsty thing. Huddy.
1. Part One

_Hello everyone! After a couple of weeks of break, I decided to write a new story. It's going to be short, just 4-5 chapters, and it's pretty weird. I mean, the idea came from a dream, so you can imagine what I'm talking about._

 _Basically, it's all about fate/destiny/how you'd like to call it, but I won't say anything more for now. Just that it's very very angsty._

 _Also, I know that "moving on" is not set on the day the episode aired, but in this fic it is. I also know that according to Wikipedia Wilson dies in 2012, but if I'm not wrong there's one gap year between s7 and s8, so in this fic he dies in 2013._

 _For those of you who don't know it, English is not my first language, so you may spot some mistakes._

 _Let me know what you think, okay? :)_

* * *

 **ALIVE**

 **May 23rd 2011, Princeton, USA**

With a strong push, he managed to open the car door.

He limped steadily towards her, climbing over the rubble that had been her living room.

She was leaning on the wall, staring at him in shock, surrounded by her sister, her brother-in-law, and her new date.

That bitch. She'd said she wasn't dating anyone.

As he approached her, she walked hesitantly towards him. He looked at her a few seconds before handing her her hairbrush.

She took it with shaky hands, and he walked away.

"You were right" he said to Wilson "I feel much better"

Then, he disappeared.

She'd deserved this. She had deserved his damn car through her living room.

She had promised she would love him for his true self, she had defined him the most incredible man she'd ever known. She'd said she didn't want him to change.

But oh, turns out she did.

She kicked him out at the first relapse, as if she had forgotten he was an addict. As if she had forgotten he was in pain. Then, she just went on with her life, as if nothing ever happened. But they did.

They happened. They mattered.

And now, she was going to remember it forever.

He smirked to himself, headed home. He wasn't going to stay there, though. He would just grab some stuff and then he would go away. Why stay home, after all? It was such a beautiful day.

He went to Fiji.

About one year later, he was in jail, and a guard came to wake him up, saying the Dean of Medicine wanted to see him. That day, when he saw Eric Foreman answering to that title, when he stepped once again into Princeton Plainsboro Teaching Hospital, that day was the day when Greg House realized that his last memory of Lisa Cuddy was going to be a mental picture of her holding an old hairbrush with shaky hands, in her destroyed house.

* * *

 **October 19th 2013, Princeton, USA**

James Wilson was a beloved man.

House was standing behind a tree, attending the funeral. He was officially dead, so no one had to see him, but he just couldn't miss the last goodbye to his best friend. His only friend.

They had a great time during their road trip, saw a lot of places, met a lot of people. They had fun.

Then the bad days started, but House remained with Wilson until the very end.

And now there he was, hidden from the world, trying not to cry for the pain and the loneliness he felt deep inside his soul.

There were so many people attending Wilson's ceremony, way more than the ones who had attended his own, a few months earlier.

House, however, expected this. He was always an ass to everyone. Wilson, on the other hand, was a good man.

From his point of view, he glanced at the people standing around the grave, dressed in black.

There were Wilson's parents, and his brothers, both of them, even the one he barely spoke to. There were his three ex-wives, and a few ex-girlfriends. There were relatives, and other friends.

The hospital was basically all there, nurses, doctors, administrators, everyone. There was Chase, Foreman, Park, Adams, Taub, Thirteen. There was even a very pregnant Cameron, with her husband and her kid.

There was a huge amount of former oncology patients. There was Stacy.

Then, sitting in the third row, there was Lisa Cuddy. To his funeral, she hadn't come. But of course she would show up for Wilson.

Even though House could only see her back, he'd recognized her immediately. He could sense her presence.

Sitting at her right, there was Rachel, in a little black dress. He couldn't help smiling noticing how much she'd grown in just two years. Then, on the other side, there was a man. Averagely tall, brown hair. He had an arm over Cuddy's shoulders.

So, she'd found love again.

A very little part of him was happy for her. She was a good person after all, like Wilson was. She deserved to be happy.

Another part of him wished he could be that man holding and comforting her, but he knew that was just not possible. She hadn't even come to his funeral.

The truth was than now he was alone. Completely alone. Cuddy didn't even care if he was dead or alive. He could contact Dominika, but he actually didn't want to. There was a moment in his life when he thought he was in love with her, and they could be happy together. But thinking about her now, after all these month, he felt absolutely nothing.

And Wilson… Wilson was gone. Forever.

He sighed and left. The sorrow was just too much. He couldn't take it anymore.

* * *

He came back that evening, when the cemetery was desert, and he was allowed to be alone with his emotions.

He sat down next to Wilson's grave, and gently placed a flower and some stones on top of it. Originally, he was going to bring only the flower, but then he thought that Jews sometimes used stones instead, so he brought both.

He felt a little stupid for it. Wilson was dead. He wasn't going to care about stones, or flowers. Wilson didn't _exist_ anymore. There was just his body, his flesh and bones, buried there. But _he_ was gone.

House's eyes filled with tears. He'd thought he wasn't going to cry. He'd dreaded this moment for months, but he thought he was ready, when in fact he wasn't.

"Bastard" he whispered in the silence, hearing his own voice quivering. House always thought he was supposed to go first. He had abused his body for years, and behaved like a dickhead with everyone. _He_ was supposed to die relatively young and in agony. Not Wilson. Wilson was supposed to grow old, together with his fifth wife, and then die in peace surrounded by kids and grandkids.

That was how things were supposed to go.

A solitary tear rolled down his cheek, and there was nothing he could do to stop it.

The sound of his own thoughts was so loud that he didn't even hear the soft rustle of grass behind him, sign that someone was coming.

"I'm sorry for your loss, Greg" a female voice whispered.

He froze. He didn't expect anyone to be around at this time. He also didn't expect anyone to know he wasn't a ghost, not _her_ at least.

He quickly dried his eyes, before standing up to face her.

"Stacy… Hi"

She smiled gently at him. It was good to see him alive.

"How are you?" she asked.

"Legally dead. What about you?"

"I'm fine, thanks"

He didn't know what to say. She had come to his funeral, so he didn't understand how she knew he was alive, or how she found him. A part of him was almost happy to see her. It was the first human contact he had since Wilson's death.

Another part of him, however, wanted to be left alone, mourning his friend. He didn't know what Stacy wanted, but he knew they hadn't spoken in ages, so it was very likely that she did want something.

"So, do you have questions for me?" he asked.

"I kinda know everything" she replied "I guess you have questions for me"

"Not really" he said "Wilson told you what happened, there's no other explanation"

"And you're not wondering _why_ he told me?"

He looked away. Of course he was wondering. He just didn't feel like talking at the moment.

However, Stacy decided to ignore this, and gently put an hand on his arm.

"He was worried for you..." she started "He wanted you to go on with your life after his…"

"Don't say that word"

She sighed. "I'm a lawyer, Greg. He contacted me because he knew I could help you get your life back. Literally"

He looked up, as he suddenly realized what she meant.

He never thought about this, about his life "after Wilson". He just lived day after day, no plans, no arrangements. However, one thing he was sure about. He never _ever_ regretted what he did. He would stage his own death a thousand times all over again, if it meant giving his friend the time of his life.

"I don't regret what I did" he said.

"I never implied that. I just said we can try to undo it"

He thought about it for a second. He would have to spend more time in jail for sure, then get his medical license back, then get a job, but no one would hire an old addict who faked his own death. He came to a quick conclusion. It just wasn't worth it.

"What for?" he whispered.

"What? What do you mean…?"

"It was a nice way to kindly decline your offer. Thanks for your concern. You can go now"

He just wanted to be left alone with Wilson.

She knew him well enough to understand that there was no way she could talk to him right now. It was a hard moment for him. He just needed some time. She took a business card out of her purse and handed it to him.

Reluctantly, he took it and shoved it in his jeans pockets.

"I'll be in town for the next couple of days" she just said.

He nodded, before sitting down again on the grass next to Wilson's grave.

"You're not alone, Greg, you know that?" he heard her say.

He scoffed. "Sure"

"I'm serious" she continued "You can count on me…"

He rolled his eyes. Why the hell wasn't she leaving? Was it so hard to understand that he just wanted to be alone?

"… and Lisa, she cares about you too…"

That made him lose it.

" _Lisa_ hates me. _Lisa_ didn't even show up at my damn funeral!" he snapped, turning to look at Stacy again. That name, Lisa, sounded so foreign to him. She was always Cuddy to him. " _Lisa_ and I parted ways a long time ago, for good"

To that, Stacy didn't answer. She had heard, vaguely, what had happened between them, but she knew no details.

Plus, now he was clearly upset. There was no point in continuing a conversation.

"Just think about my offer, please" she whispered eventually.

He sighed in relief when he heard her leave, and he turned his attention back to Wilson's grave.

"You never change, don't you?!" he said aloud, staring at the headstone "why the hell did you have to contact Stacy? You should really stop this caring thing, you know"

Talking to his friend made him feel both better and worse at the same time. He kept talking a little longer. He told Wilson about the funeral, and the people that were there.

Then, a little before closing time, he rode all the way back to his cheap motel room with roaches in the shower.

Not that he cared.

He skipped dinner, as he had in the last two days. The last time he had a proper dinner, Wilson was still with him. He just wasn't hungry, at the moment.

He just wanted to sleep. He hadn't had a full night of sleep in what felt like ages. At first, he needed to be awake to take care of Wilson. Then, after Wilson was gone, sleep just wouldn't reach him. Too much pain.

That night, he decided he was going to take the matter in his own hands.

In the corner of the room, there was a bag, which contained all the medical stuff they needed during the journey. House opened it, ad was glad to see there was still some morphine left.

He lay down in bed, and injected it in his vein. He wasn't even too careful with the quantity. It just didn't matter if he slept a few hours, or the whole night, or _more_.

He just wanted to ease the pain.

His last conscious thought before passing out was that he could even overdose, and it didn't matter.

He didn't care.

No one would care.


	2. Part Two

_Soooo here we are with the second part of the story. I'm warning you, it gets weird, and it may not be what you were expecting (yet). I hope you'll stick with it!_

 _Thanks for your interest, by the way! Enjoy :)_

* * *

 **February 24** **th** **2014, Rio de Janeiro, Brazil**

Soon after Wilson's funeral, House left the States. He put things into perspective. There was no reason to stay in Princeton, and the fact that he was legally dead meant he could start a new life.

Brazil was a nice place for a dead man. He got himself a new identity, under the name of George Hughes, and started making a living selling cold drinks on Copacabana beach. It was a good business itself, plus he knew some Portuguese already, and that made everything easier.

From his kiosk, he could see both the sea and the promenade. He really couldn't complain. No more hard work, no more responsibilities, just fun and women. He'd heard the Brazilian girls were hot, but reality turned out better than imagination. He was just following Wilson's advice: he was going on with his life.

That day, February 24th, started like any other day, until, in the early afternoon, he spotted someone that caught his attention.

Lisa Cuddy.

She was walking on the promenade, laughing and talking with her sister Julia, both wearing a straw hat.

His heart skipped a beat. He hid inside his kiosk, careful not to be seen, but he couldn't stop following her with his eyes.

If at first he had a doubt that his mind was playing tricks with him, now he was sure. Cuddy was there, in Rio, clearly on vacation. In so many years he had known her, he couldn't remember one time she took time off work for pleasure (okay, maybe once or twice).

And now, she was here, in his same city, strolling so very close to the place in which he worked.

He briefly wondered if he could wave at her, call her name, just to see her reaction to the fact that he wasn't dead. Then, he thought better. She hated him.

And to be completely honest, he was determined to keep her in the past. They had their time, their chances, but now it was all gone. Greg House was dead, and so were all his bonds.

He waited for her to be out of sight, then he resumed his day.

* * *

 **July 21** **st** **2015, Venice, Italy**

House woke up that morning with a smile.

He was sleeping naked next to Isolde, a beautiful woman he'd met a couple of days earlier. They met during an open-air concert, and spent the rest of the night talking. She was about 30 years old and was an opera singer from Vienna, invited to perform Rigoletto in the most famous theater in Venice, La Fenice. House had to make up some parts of his life, but it was soon clear that they had a lot in common.

The following evening, they went on a date together, and after dinner and a drink, she invited him in her hotel room. They had sex.

He really liked her. She was intriguing, and made him feel good.

Actually, that morning, he felt better than he had in the last two years. He felt happy, almost.

He opened his eyes and saw her walking around, already completely dressed.

"Good morning" he whispered.

"Hi" she said, while she sat on the edge of the bed to wear her shoes. She spoke English very well, but she still had a cute Austrian accent that captivated him even more.

"You're leaving already?"

"I'm sorry, I have rehearsals in half an hour and I'm already late"

He got up and wore his boxers, while she took her purse and walked towards the door. He noticed something strange in her. She looked cold, distant.

"When… when can I see you again?" he asked tentatively.

She turned to him and gave him a big smile. "The show is on Friday night. I think it's sold out, but maybe I can make some calls and find you a seat"

"That's great, but I meant… us"

She gave him a puzzled look. "Us?"

"Yeah, I mean… tomorrow night? Some more pizza? Or some more sex?" he asked, waving his eyebrows.

He saw her suddenly open her eyes wide, and putting a hand above her mouth.

"Oh, you thought…" she started "I mean, I thought you wanted this too"

Now _he_ was confused.

"Oh God, this is embarrassing…" she continued "hum, look… this is it. I'm not… I'm not looking for a commitment. I mean, we had fun, it was nice… but that's it. I-I thought you felt the same"

She looked clearly nervous, and he felt a huge weight on his chest. He liked her. He would have liked to see her again. She was the first person he'd actually talked to since Wilson.

But of course, she was a beautiful young woman, half his age, what could she want from him?

"Sure, I feel the same" he stated eventually.

"Oh thank God!" she said, relieved.

He gave her a fake half smile.

"I really have to go now, text me if you want a ticket for the opera… and just close the door when you leave" she added, opening the door.

He nodded. " 'Kay"

"Goodbye George"

And with those words, Isolde was gone. Needless to say, he had no intentions of texting her.

He collected his stuff and went to work. He'd been living in Italy for a couple of months now, after he decided he was done selling drinks in Rio. Once again, he started a new life, and found a job as gondola driver. He didn't know Italian at all, although it wasn't hard to understand having a good base of Spanish and Portuguese, but he didn't really need it. So far, all the people wanting a gondola ride were tourists. It was physically demanding, given his limp, but for this reason he was also paid more, so he decided he could do it, popping some extra pills. Tourists didn't care, as long as he drove them to the best spots for taking pictures. He liked mocking them a bit, and they would laugh, thinking it was Italian humor.

During the whole morning, that day, even while he drove tourists around, he kept thinking of Isolde, and of how stupid he'd been thinking she could have possibly wanted more.

At some point, around lunchtime, he excused himself for a few minutes, because he needed to buy a bottle of water.

When he came back, a colleague, Marco, approached him.

"You just missed a customer!" he said.

"Too bad" House replied, shrugging.

"You should have seen this one! She was really hot!" Marco repeated "Look!"

Saying that, he pointed at a gondola that was going to disappear behind the corner of a canal. House looked just in time to see the mysterious customer.

Lisa Cuddy.

It was definitely her. He could only see her profile, and she was wearing sunglasses, but he had no doubt. It was her.

Again, just like in Rio, they almost met. If he had waited just a few minutes to get the water, he would have met her.

With all the places in the world, with all the places in Venice that offered a gondola ride, Lisa Cuddy had chosen the spot where he was.

This time, however, House felt different about it. He still didn't want to talk to her, he was still dead after all, but he liked the thought of seeing her, hearing her voice.

After what happened that morning, he just needed something positive, something good. And, as he quickly realized, she was. She could still trigger good thoughts in him, even if they could be nothing more than memories.

However, after a few more minutes, a Korean family arrived asking for a ride, and it was his turn.

By the time he was back, the guy who had driven Cuddy's gondola was already there too.

Cuddy was gone, and House thought maybe it was for the best.

* * *

 **March 3** **rd** **2016, Istanbul, Turkey**

House didn't last long in Venice. Soon the job of gondolier became too hard on his leg, and he was forced to leave. So George Hughes moved to Turkey, and found a job in the kitchen of a local McDonald's.

He liked the city very much, it had a nice exotic atmosphere, but he rarely felt so lonely before. Turkish was a really hard language to pick up, so he never tried to talk to anyone, and no one really tried to talk to him.

In Istanbul, it was just him, by himself, all the time. Which was okay, most days, he enjoyed his own company. Other days, however, it was less fine. Loneliness was always a choice for him, he chose to be alone, he chose to push people away. Now, instead, he was forced to it.

It was in one of those bad days that he saw Lisa Cuddy again.

He got a glimpse of her in the Grand Bazaar, in the middle of the crowd. He spotted her immediately. She was right there, buying some jewelry, smiling and talking. There was Rachel too, next to her. She had grown a lot.

He froze.

She was so close to him. He could have walked towards her, called her name, done something. Instead, he was simply paralyzed. A part of him wanted her to notice him. Another part just wanted to run away.

None of the two options happened. She just waved goodbye to the seller and walked away, holding Rachel's hand, mixing with the other people. There were so many people.

At that point, strength came back to him, and he called her name.

"Cuddy…" he said, but it was way too low to be heard with all the people chatting and walking. She was getting farther and farther.

"Cuddy!" he repeated, louder this time.

She turned around. He saw her turn around briefly. He saw her confused expression. He saw her beautiful eyes, that he could never forget, glancing around, looking for the source of the voice she just heard, the voice that called her name.

But it was just for a mere second.

Then she resumed her pace, and disappeared in the crowd.

She hadn't seen him.

He should have called her immediately, or approached her when she still was reachable.

The fact was that he still couldn't believe it. Was she really there, again? First in Rio, then in Venice, now here. Was she following him? He was pretty sure he wasn't hallucinating, or, well, he would have hallucinated much more than just a glimpse.

He never believed in fate, or destiny. He never believed in coincidences either.

He thought he may as well start.

* * *

 **November 1** **st** **2017, Beijing, China**

His life in China was pretty good. When he thought it was time to leave Turkey, his choice fell on a place of which he knew the language, at least a little. Thus, Beijing was one of the options.

So every evening, George Hughes took the subway to the city center to work as bartender in a small bar, usually for businessmen or tourists. It was fine, enough to pay the rent.

However, he didn't feel happy. When he first started travelling around the world, he remembered feeling a sense of freedom. He could start a new life, do whatever he liked. It was fun, at first.

Then, things slowly changed. He missed the feeling of having a place to call home, even if it was just his old apartment in Princeton. He missed the music. He hadn't played the piano in years, and it felt like a piece of his soul was missing. He missed being a doctor, solving puzzles, he missed the adrenaline that only a solved case could give him.

He missed his mom. He thought of her sometimes, he wondered how she was doing. A couple of times, he was tempted to call her or send her a letter, but he never did so. It was too dangerous for him.

He missed Wilson, every minute of every day. He never knew how much he actually needed a friend, until he was left alone. He never had any more friends. Sometimes he talked to his colleagues, or his neighbors, but mainly he was a loner. The only person he tried to get close to was that Austrian girl, but he ended up being disappointed, as always. After that, he tried no more. Rationally, there was no point. He would only live in a city for a few months, maybe a year, and then he had to leave, leaving no trace behind. Bonding was meaningless.

Still, never in his life had he felt as lonely as in these last years. He was alive, yes, but often he felt dead inside.

He was really a ghost.

That evening, he took the subway as usual. He sat on the seats reserved for handicapped people, next to the window. It was almost peak time, so the platform was very crowded and people pushed each other to get in, but as usual he didn't have problems finding a seat. Everyone was very respectful.

Suddenly, he saw her. Again.

Lisa Cuddy was running towards the doors, in her high heels, dressed in one of her power suits.

House thought he had definitely gone insane. She couldn't be there. In China. A few seconds away from taking his same train.

When he left the US, he'd planned to leave everything behind, including her.

But now fate, or destiny, or whatever, kept bringing them close again.

He stared at her from the window, while she patiently waited her turn to get on the train, and he couldn't help thinking how much he would have liked to hear her voice again.

He just missed home very much, and apparently she was the last connection he had.

This time, he decided to act before it was too late.

"Cuddy!" he shouted.

Nothing.

"Cuddy!" he repeated, louder, pounding with a hand against the window. "Cuddy!"

That was when she finally heard him.

She glanced around, like she'd done in Istanbul, but this time she noticed him.

He saw her mouth fall agape, her eyes opening wide in shock. He opened his hand against the window, waiting for her to step inside the train. She'd seen him.

Now they were going to talk. Maybe she would insult him, or hit him, but it didn't matter. He was a few seconds away from hearing her voice, and this made him happier than he'd been in years.

However, she wasn't getting on the train. All the people were gone, the door was free, but she was frozen on the spot, staring at him.

Then, no more than two seconds later, he saw her collapsing on the ground, passed out on the platform.

"Cuddy!" he shouted again. Instinctively he got up from his seat, but he quickly realized there was no chance he could get out. The train was completely full, every inch of space was occupied.

He saw some people running towards Cuddy on the platform, to help her, while the train doors closed, and it moved away.

He got off at the following stop, although it wasn't his destination, and went to take a train back. He limped as fast as he could, but it wasn't enough to reach it in time. He had to wait for another one.

By the time he was back to the station where he'd first seen Cuddy, there was no more trace of her around.

* * *

 **August 15** **th** **2018, Moscow, Russia**

The Russian government was hard to deceive, but he eventually managed to get a Visa with the help of an old friend.

So now, George Hughes sold ice-cream at the Gum department store in Moscow. Unfortunately, the salary was not enough to afford a place in the city center, so he lived in the suburbs.

One day, he saw Cuddy again. He was taking a break from work, enjoying the beautiful sight of St. Basil's cathedral, when he saw her. He saw her walking, together with three men, all dressed up in a suit. He saw them crossing Red Square, talking, avoiding all the tourists.

He was going to call her again, but he quickly realized there was no way she could have heard him. She was too far, and there were too many people.

In moments like this, he hated his limp so much, as it prevented him from running after her.

But this time, unlike all the other times, he had no intention of giving up. She was probably staying in some hotel, and he was determined to find out which one. He had to meet her.

He had to talk to Lisa Cuddy. He didn't know what would come out of it. He just knew he'd waited too long. He was tired of being a ghost.

Finding her was way less hard than he'd imagined. He found out there was a medical conference in these days, so he figured she would be there.

He called, just to make sure, and he could feel his heart stop for a second when the receptionist confirmed that Dr. Lisa Cuddy was staying there.

That night, he collected all his courage, and went there. He asked where her room was, and they had no problem in telling him. Room 221, second floor.

He limped steadily out of the elevators, his palms sweaty, his mouth dry. He didn't know what to tell her. He just needed to be with someone that knew him, no matter if they hated him.

He wondered if she still hated him. He wondered if she was alone in the room, or if maybe Rachel was there too. How old was she now? Ten, or something?

Maybe, Cuddy had a husband, or a boyfriend. Just because her name was still Cuddy, didn't necessarily mean she wasn't married. He was pretty sure she was at least in a relationship.

He looked at himself in a mirror, along the hallway. God, without his beard he looked even older. Would she recognize him? It'd been seven years, after all. Seven years since they last saw each other, and five since he staged his own death.

Well, they saw each other in China too, but that wasn't quite the same.

He remembered the last time he actually saw her, for real. He remembered her brush, her shaky hand, her lost eyes. Her beautiful eyes. What had he been thinking, that day?

Would things be different, now, if that day he'd just returned her brush?

Of course. Of course things would be different.

He stood outside her room for a while. He could hear no noise coming from inside. Maybe she was out somewhere, with her kid, or her husband, or both.

He really just wanted to hear her voice. He'd been alone for so long, as if he was dead for real. He just needed five minutes of her time, and then he would disappear again.

Maybe that was the reason why destiny kept bringing her in the same cities he lived: so that they could have a proper goodbye.

Holding his breath, he knocked on her door, and waited.

"Yes?" he heard her say.

It was her. It was really definitely her.

He moved his lips as to talk, but no voice came out. He knocked again.

"Who's there?" she asked again.

What was he going to say now? He didn't know. Plus, his voice had suddenly disappeared. He looked down. Maybe he should just walk away. What was he expecting anyway? A hug? A warm "welcome back to the world of the living"?

She had moved on with her life for sure. She had a new job in a new city somewhere, and possibly a new partner. She was happy. He was the one who had been stuck for years, who, in spite of all the travelling, couldn't move forward, would never move forward.

He was going to turn around and leave, when he heard the sound of the door opening and found two gray eyes staring at him.

There she was, Lisa Cuddy, standing right in front of him with bare feet, wearing a long white nightgown. She looked pale and her eyes were open wide in shock, like that time he'd got a glimpse of her in Beijing. He hoped she wasn't going to faint again.

He was paralyzed too.

He had no idea how long they remained like that, before he saw her jaw clenching and felt a stinging pain on his left cheek. She'd slapped him. He closed his eyes in pain and brought his hand to the tender spot.

"You son of a bitch" she whispered through gritted teeth.

He wanted to say something, he really did. The fact was that rationally, this had clearly been a mistake. But emotionally, well, mad Cuddy was better than no Cuddy.

"It's been five years!" she barked, the anger now clear in her voice.

He just kept looking down.

"Five fucking years!" she yelled again "I mourned you! I thought you were dead! How could you do this?!"

He glanced up at her, just to see her cheeks flushed and her eyes glistening with tears. He opened his mouth to speak, but no sound came out. He wanted to apologize. He wanted to point out that she hadn't even come to his funeral. He wanted to say something sarcastic and witty to lighten the atmosphere.

He could say none of this.

With her hands curled in fists, she started hitting his chest, hard enough that he had to lean more on his cane, but not hard enough to hurt him.

He let her.

"Five years! It's been five years!" she kept repeating in time with her hands "You're an idiot! I hate you! I hate you!"

He took it all in silence. Soon he heard her breath become more labored, and her punches weaker, until she buried her head in his chest, her body shaken by sobs and sighs. She was crying.

"You're alive…" she said against his shirt.

They wrapped their arms around each other, and he leaned his chin on top of her head. He couldn't remember the last time he'd hugged someone, and he'd forgotten how good it could feel. Plus, this was not just someone. This was Cuddy. And she smelled so good.

"I'm alive" he whispered, more to himself than to her. He was alive. Sometimes he forgot it.

After she managed to calm down, she looked up. Her eyes were red-rimmed and her cheeks streamed with tears. He wondered if she'd ever looked so beautiful.

Almost on instinct, he lifted her chin with his free hand and gently kissed her. It was just a delicate peck, so light he could barely feel it, but it was enough to stop the rest of the world from existing. He was positively surprised when she kissed back, with more pressure. Now he could taste her lips, gently bit them, as his tongue found hers. When was it the last time he felt so good, so alive? Had it ever happened, at all?

Her hands roamed on his back, and he could feel the salty taste of her tears in his mouth.

Or maybe, they weren't _her_ tears.

As she broke the kiss to look at him, and dried the dampness on his cheeks with her thumbs, he realized he'd been crying all along too.

"I'm… I'm sorry" he said in a shaky voice, as her hands kept resting on his cheeks.

Then, she kissed him again.

"Come inside" she whispered, and he realized they were still standing in the hallway.

He followed her inside her room, vaguely looking around, finding himself glad that she clearly was there alone.

As soon as she closed the door behind them, he found her lips again. She was a drug. He couldn't believe it had been seven years since the last time he kissed her.

And what he was feeling now, this passion, this desire, all of this was something he had almost forgotten.

They lay down on the bed and removed each other clothes, their lips never really parting. He kissed her neck and fondled her breasts, slowly, tenderly, cherishing her beauty and gasping at the love he suddenly felt when she took him deep inside her core.

During the years, he had sex with a lot of hookers, but this was different. He'd found his Cuddy again, in the most unlikely place on Earth, and making love to her was the best thing in the world. He felt loved. He felt wanted. He felt like he still belonged somewhere.

For the first time in five years, and maybe more, that night Greg House stopped being a dead soul.

Their bodies moved together in a passionate dance, moaning and building their pleasure. She was on top, because she liked it the most, and he could use his hands to caress her where and when she needed it. She softly placed little kisses all over his face and neck, because she knew that it was what he wanted. More than physical pleasure, in this precise moment he craved affection. He craved love.

She came just a few seconds before him, and he followed her right away. Then he rolled on his left side, she rolled on her right one, their limbs entangled together. They were so close the tips of their noses were touching.

They talked. He told her around his journeys around the world, about his jobs, about all the times he'd seen her but never did anything. She told him about that time she saw him in China, and the fact that she had a head CT after that, because she thought she was hallucinating. They laughed.

She told him about her job as Head Administrator at Chicago Grace Hospital, and also a bit about Rachel too. He asked if there was a Mr. Cuddy. She denied. Then she added "not anymore", and he didn't question her any further. She kissed his lips.

After a while, he rolled her under him and put his head on her chest, one arm possessively across her tiny waist, one leg above her thighs.

At first, he'd told himself he would stay with her only a few minutes, but now the mere thought of being out there alone again disgusted him. So he tried to physically trap her under him.

However, the movement caused a sharp pain in his leg. He flinched, and she noticed.

"Does your leg hurt?" she asked softly.

"A little" he replied.

She shifted a little more, until she could reach his scar with her hand. Without saying a word, she started rubbing it delicately at first, then with more strength.

"You don't have to…" he began, but she shushed him.

"Let me" she said.

He didn't object. He just kissed the side of her neck, and enjoyed the sweet sensation of the pain fading under her touch.

When her hand stopped, some minutes later, he could feel the tiredness creeping in his bones. He closed his eyes. He didn't know if it was the sex, the massage, or just the happiness, but he really felt like sleeping.

"Better?" she asked.

He nodded, hoping she wouldn't ask him to leave now. He had no idea what was running through her mind. He knew very well that they would need to say goodbye, sooner or later, but he just wasn't ready yet. She made him feel alive.

She sensed his tiredness and kissed the top of his head, running her fingers through his hair and across his upper back.

"Did you forgive me?" he asked in a sleepy voice.

"I don't know" was her honest reply.

She really didn't know. It was an emotional moment, and she was just happy that he was alive. She would figure out everything else in the morning.

After a while, they fell asleep.

Her alarm went off at 5am. She'd booked her transfer to the airport at 6, to take the flight that would take her back home. She looked at House, still partially wrapped around her, still asleep despite the sound.

She still didn't regret anything.

She removed herself from his grasp, and took a quick shower, got dressed and put the last few things in the suitcase.

She had no idea what her feelings were at the moment, and she wasn't sure to which extent she wanted him back in her life. She just knew she didn't want to lose him again.

She hadn't forgiven him, not completely, but she was willing to give it a try. She decided to write him a note and leave it on the pillow.

She took a pen from her purse, and wrote on the back of those customer survey papers that could be found in hotel rooms.

 _I'm flying back home today, I had the transfer to the airport at 6am. Sorry if I didn't wake you up, you looked so peaceful._

 _Just call me when you can, or send me an email…. We'll take it from there. Together._

 _08 555-060879_

 _PS. Love the clean shaved look!_

In the exact moment she finished writing, her phone rang. It was Julia. Right, it was 10pm back home.

She went to the bathroom to speak to her sister and Rachel, and promised them she would text them once at the airport.

House was still asleep when she was done. He could still sleep through everything. She brushed his hair with her hand and kissed his cheek one last time. Then, she took her suitcase and left.

She forgot to put her note on the pillow, so it still lay on the little table next to the window.

"There's a guest in my room, is that a problem? Should I go wake him up?" she asked the receptionist while she checked out.

"Not at all, Dr. Cuddy. You room was paid until 10 am" he replied.

She smiled. "Thanks"

And she left.

House woke up a couple of hours later. There was no trace of Cuddy around.

He got dressed, quickly used the bathroom, then he went to the hall. He didn't notice the note she'd mistakenly left on the table.

"Excuse me, has Dr. Cuddy left? She was in room 221" he told the receptionist.

He typed something on his computer. "Yes. She checked out in the early morning. She was flying home"

House looked down. "Has she said anything about... a man?"

"She just said she had a guest in her room and didn't want to wake him up so early"

He nodded. "Thanks"

He left the hotel.

So, Cuddy had regretted everything. She'd probably woken up disgusted by herself, and decided to leave.

Right. He was still a ghost after all.

He would always be a ghost.


	3. Part Three

_A big "thanks" to all of you who read/followed/favorited/reviewed this story! :) Here is part 3, and it gets even angstier. I'm sorry for that! I just really felt the need to write something sad, so please don't hate me._

 _I would also like to remind you that despite what you may think, this fic is going to have a happy ending, since we already had an uhappy one on the show. It's going to be happier than you imagine, actually._

 _Well... enjoy (?)!_

* * *

 **January 10** **th** **2020, Princeton, USA**

George Hughes was working in Mexico when he woke up one morning with a weird feeling, as if something had happened. He just knew. His mom had died.

He rented a car, and drove all the way to visit her grave. He brought her flowers, and cried. A lot. He wished he'd called her once, or texted her, or sent her a letter, just to let her know he was fine, somewhere in the world. Now it was too late. He hoped she at least died in peace.

Later on, that afternoon, he drove to a well-known location. He went to what was once his home: Princeton. He had a look around, while driving. The streets were always the same, but there were new bars and shops here and there. He hadn't gone there on a pleasure trip, though.

He went to the Jewish graveyard. He hadn't been there in ages, and he felt partially guilty about it.

He sat down next to Wilson's grave, as he had done seven years earlier for the last time.

"Sorry it took so long" he said aloud "I've been busy"

He told his friend about what he'd done during the years, the places he'd visited, the jobs he took. Then, as there was no one around, he told him how much he missed him, how much he missed watching Monster Trucks with him, or the poker nights, or even his way of caring.

He cried some more, touching the letters on the gravestone with his fingertips.

A couple of hours later, he left. He had planned to start driving back that same day, but then he decided there were a few more stops he wanted to make.

He drove in front of PPTH. He remembered driving there every morning, for years. He wondered if they still had a diagnostics department, if Foreman was still Dean of Medicine, if the cafeteria still sold those delicious burgers he used to eat with Wilson.

Then, he drove to his old apartment, the place he used to call home. The curtains were closed, so he couldn't see inside, but he just stayed there anyway for a few minutes. He'd honestly expected to feel melancholy and nostalgia, but he didn't. That didn't feel like home anymore.

Next, he drove to another graveyard, where his own grave was. He'd never been there, it felt somewhat weird, but it could spot it almost immediately. It was the only one that didn't have flowers on it, nor candles.

 _Gregory House_

 _June 11_ _th_ _, 1959 – May 21_ _st_ _, 2013_

He sighed. A part of him had really died that day. He wondered where he would be buried once his time finally came for real, if anyone would ever be notified.

Then he thought better. There was no one to notify.

He stayed there no more than a few minutes. It was like staring in a mirror. He was going to leave the place, when not so far away from his grave he spotted another one without flowers or candles. He limped towards it, just out of curiosity, just to see who the other unlucky bastard was.

His breath got caught in his throat as he read the name.

 _Remy Beauregard Hadley_

 _March 10_ _th_ _, 1981 – April 30_ _th_ _, 2019_

He stole a flower from the closest grave and placed it on hers. He wondered if she'd died for the disease, or if she'd managed to find someone who would euthanize her. He'd promised to do that himself, once, but life had different plans.

Judging by the year of death, however, she probably suffered until the very end.

He finally left the graveyard a few minutes later. The sun had set in the meantime. Now it was cold, although not cold as it used to be.

While he was walking to the spot where he'd parked his car, he saw Cuddy. She was inside one of the bars on the main road, drinking a hot beverage with her sister. There was also a newborn baby with them, Julia was holding him (or her, but probably him since it was dressed in a blue onesie). He was no more than a few weeks old. House wondered who he was. Both Cuddy and her sister were too old to have biological children, or at least he thought so.

Then he remembered that Julia's eldest kid was 10 or something while he was dating Cuddy (so ten years earlier). That baby was probably her grandson.

House, at first, thought about going in and say hi. He'd never seen Cuddy again since that night in Moscow, but of course fate hadn't given up yet.

He eventually decided against it.

Seeing her, kissing her, making love to her, sleeping next to her, and then saying goodbye, that had been too hard. Plus the fact that she hadn't left a note or something was a clear sign that she didn't want to see him again.

They only had a past, but could never have a future. So once again he let her go.

He took his car and drove away.

* * *

 **April 12** **th** **, 2022, Johannesburg, South Africa**

He could feel nothing. He felt like his head was fluctuating above his body, like he was drowning in a pool, but in a pleasant way.

There was no pain. There was nothing.

As he slowly opened his eyes, there was only light. And a pair of two gray eyes staring at him, so close to his face.

He started feeling something. First, a nice warmth on his hand, as if someone was holding it. Then he heard her voice. He couldn't grasp what she was saying, but she was talking to him.

Cuddy was there and she was talking to him.

He tried to speak, but no voice came out. He couldn't move a muscle. He wasn't even sure he was breathing on his own.

"Shhhh" she whispered "don't try to speak"

She kissed his forehead, then his cheek, then his lips, softly.

"Get some more rest" she said, her thumb caressing his hand.

He closed his eyes, and soon everything was black again.

When he opened them again, it felt like a lifetime later, and his mouth was completely dry.

His first conscious thought went to Cuddy. She was there, he knew she was there. She had kissed him. So wherever he was, she was there too, somewhere.

He had a look around. He had IVs everywhere, and suddenly he remembered what happened.

Although he hadn't practiced medicine in almost ten years, he could still recognize the symptoms of acute liver failure, so he just knew when his liver was abandoning him forever.

And he was fine with that. He'd lived enough. He would never commit suicide, but honestly he was done with his existence, with migrating from a place to another without a real purpose.

He was done surviving.

So when he thought his time had finally come for real, he was almost happy of it.

However, he couldn't understand why he was still alive. He was supposed to be dead by now. By the time he was hospitalized his only chance left was transplant. Had they managed to find a liver? How was it possible? He was a 63-year-old drug addict, how could they put him on the list?

He didn't know, but that was exactly what happened. He could feel the bandages around his torso.

So, that meant Cuddy had probably been an hallucination. Of course. No way she was here. No way she would hold his hand, or kiss him. It was all in his mind.

"Good to see you're awake, Mr. Hughes" a doctor said, entering House's room.

"What did you do?" he asked harshly. He was supposed to be happy to be alive. He wasn't.

The doctor didn't seem to notice his bad mood.

"You're a lucky man… you have friends who really love you" she just said.

With those words, she moved aside and let a nurse take another bed inside the room.

House's jaw dropped as he saw the man lying on it and waving at him.

His name was James Meyer, like James Wilson, and he was House's housemate. He was probably in his early thirties, or something like that, House didn't know. He never wanted to be his friend, they just lived under the same roof for money purposes, but he had no plan on bonding. Not anymore.

But James Meyer, however, just like James Wilson, cared about people. No matter how hard House pushed him away, or tried to keep him at arm's length, James would try to get close to him.

Eventually House let him, a little, rolling his eyes and insulting him. James didn't care. He was always extra nice. He was too nice, naïve, even, so much that sometimes he'd let people fool him or treat him badly.

"You should stop being such a wuss" House would tell him.

And James, again, wouldn't care. Just like James Wilson, he was a good man.

But this? Donating his liver to him? That was too much. He had no right.

"Did you do this?" House asked. He didn't want the twenty more years that this liver would give him. He didn't want twenty more years of this useless life. He just wanted to die.

James's smile suddenly faded at the coldness of his words.

"Yes" he said.

"You're a moron"

The younger man looked down. "You're my friend"

House collected all the strength he had to keep calm.

"You're a moron" he repeated.

After that, the nurse moved James's bed back to his original room. It was clear that the two patients needed to talk, but now, after such an important surgery, it was not the right moment.

When House opened his eyes, the following morning, the first thing he saw was Cuddy, again, but she wasn't in his room. She was outside, he could see her through the glass window, talking to a nurse. Then, before he could fully realize it, she walked away.

"Mr. Hughes" the doctor said in that moment. He was so shocked for Cuddy's presence he hadn't even acknowledge the doctor in the room.

"What?"

"I'm afraid there's been a post-op complication on Mr. Meyer"

That was how House learned that James had died during the night. Pulmonary embolism. It was a rare complication of the transplant. They tried to save him, but with no success.

"I'm sorry for your loss, sir"

He wasn't listening anymore. James Meyer had died donating his liver to him. House wouldn't be here if it wasn't for him, and James would be still here if it wasn't for House.

He was grateful to be alone, or the doctor would have seen his tears.

Some time later, he called a nurse, and asked for Dr. Cuddy. He remembered why he had decided to never speak to her again, he did remember it. But right now, it didn't matter anymore. She had kissed him once, maybe when she thought he was dying.

Maybe she would kiss him again. Maybe she would take some of the pain away. Maybe she could explain him why he, an old addict, a jerk, was still alive, while another good man was gone.

The nurse said there was a Dr. Cuddy in the hospital, from the United States, and that she'd come to stipulate a new agreement between the two hospitals regarding online live surgeries.

"They told me she left one hour ago. I'm sorry sir" she added.

He nodded.

He left the hospital a couple of weeks later, and that was his first day clean from drugs.

For James, both of them. And for Cuddy, who kept kissing him.

And also a little for himself.

* * *

 **September 5** **th** **, 2024, London, United Kingdom**

He'd always heard that London was a gray, rainy city, but House found it pleasant. He didn't actually live there though, it was way too expensive, so he commuted every day.

He was sitting on the train that would take him home, that evening like every other evening, at King's Cross station. He was waiting for it to depart, while he read the newspaper and occasionally glanced outside, looking at the people walking on the platform.

Suddenly, out of the corner of his eye he saw a hand, splayed against the window.

Cuddy.

He couldn't help smiling. He was almost getting used to this.

However, there was something different in her. She was smiling, yes, but it wasn't a happy smile. She looked miserable. She was thinner than the last time he'd seen her, two years earlier, and she had pronounced bags under her eyes.

Her eyes had a sort of shadow on them, not a real one, but he could see it.

He put his hand against hers, on the window, and he swore he saw her lower lip trembling slightly. He couldn't understand. Maybe, she was just happy to see him alive and well?

No, it wasn't just that.

Right when he was about to walk out (he could have taken the following train, there was no one at home waiting for him), he realized it was moving. He kept his eyes fixed on Cuddy until he no longer could.

She waved at him the whole time, with teary eyes.

He waved back.

* * *

 **June 17** **th** **, 2025, Philadelphia, USA**

He hated strikes, especially the ones that included transit. He hated Philadelphia, especially when he had to walk all the way to reach the places where he wanted to go, because he couldn't afford a taxi.

After years, he'd finally decided to get back to the US, which he didn't regret. It was still home, after all. In days like these, however, he hated everything and everyone. In days like these, he was forced to realized how slow his walk had become, with the age adding to the pain. It was hard to stay clean, in days like these. He missed his Vicodin, and the other drugs he took. They'd make the pain go away.

But he still hadn't broken his promise.

He was busy complaining aloud, when his eyes, accidentally, fell on the windows of a taxi, waiting in line for the traffic light to get green. There was an old lady sitting inside, probably his same age, or older. She was wearing a colorful headscarf, with no visible hair underneath, and had a sort of surgical mask covering her nose and mouth.

Cancer patient, clearly.

He was going to just continue his walk when the woman turned to look at him.

And he felt as if the ground had been removed from under his feet.

Cuddy.

It was her. She could have all the masks in the world covering her face, but he would still recognized her everywhere.

Hesitantly, he walked towards the taxi and put a hand against the window, like she'd done in London. He was hoping she would open the door and talk to him. She _had_ to.

Instead, she started crying.

He wanted to cry too, and at the same time he couldn't fully acknowledge what was going on. How was this possible? Why her? With all the people in the world, why _her_?

She was so skinny. He could see her cheekbones, and the tendons and phalanxes of the hands she was using to dry her tears. She looked at least ten years older than she actually was. He wanted to hug her. He wanted to hug her so tight she wouldn't be able to breath. He wanted to take her pain away.

He wanted to kiss her. No disease was ever going to make her less of a woman to him.

"Cuddy" he said, realizing they didn't have much time "open the door"

She kept crying. A tear rolled down his cheek too.

"Cuddy please" he begged her. He begged her, and he didn't care.

She looked at him for a moment, with her red-rimmed glistening eyes. He'd always loved her eyes, but now they had lost all their light.

Her spark, her smile, her laugh, now were gone. Maybe forever.

It was a thought he couldn't even bear.

In that moment, the traffic light turned green.

At the very last second, she lowered the window and briefly removed her mask.

"Love Park. 2pm" she said. Her voice was hoarse, and he could hear she had trouble breathing.

Then, the taxi left. He wondered why she didn't just open the door, but figured she probably had something important to do.

He did try to be there on time, where and when she'd told him, but due to the strike he arrived fifteen minutes late. There was no one.

He waited almost two hours for her, before he rationally realized she wouldn't come anymore. He'd lost his chance.

The following day, he did something he should have done years ago, but never did. He googled her name, and called the hospital she was working for. They told him Dr. Cuddy was on temporary leave, that they weren't allowed to share any kind of personal information. Then, they said he could leave a message.

He kept calling and sending emails every day, for a long time, but never got any real answer.

One day, when he called, they told him something different.

"I'm sorry sir, I'm afraid Dr. Cuddy doesn't work here anymore. I'm very sorry"

When he hung up, he felt like he'd been stabbed. He dropped the phone. He couldn't even cry, he couldn't even breathe. Like it had happened for his mom, he just knew.

Lisa Cuddy was dead.


	4. Part Four

_To those of you who are still reading this, here is part four :) I'm happy to announce we're basically done with the angst, I think we had enough of that! After this, we have only one more chapter that will come at some point next week (I'm moving to London on Monday to start an internship, so I'm pretty busy!). There may be an epilogue as well, depending on how I feel... I'll say something more at the end of the chapter._

 _Enjoy, and thanks for your trust :)_

* * *

 **November 27** **th** **, 2030, Palo Alto, USA**

He hated California more than he hated Philadelphia. The earthquakes were what he hated the most.

Like the one that had taken place a few hours earlier.

He'd been lucky, though, no real injuries, just a few scratches here and there. Still, they insisted on taking him to the closest ER anyway. He hated being old, everyone would treat him like a child.

He just wanted to go home, really.

"Everything seems fine, sir" the doctor said, writing something on a tablet "You're going to have your wounds sutured now, then you're free to go"

House rolled his eyes, wondering how many hours he would still need to stay there.

"Dr. Cuddy will take care of that. She'll be here in a couple of minutes" the doctor added, before disappearing behind the curtain.

House's heart had stopped.

Dr. Cuddy?

No. It couldn't be Lisa Cuddy, it had to be someone else. Lisa Cuddy had died years ago, and this wasn't even the hospital she used to work for. There were probably plenty of Dr. Cuddys around.

While his rational mind kept trying to convince him of that, his heart toyed with the idea of seeing her again. He remembered the last time as if it happened yesterday.

What if he'd been wrong all along? What if Cuddy wasn't dead?

His thoughts were interrupted by a sound of steps, belonging to two different people. One of them was wearing heels.

"Mr. Hughes, this is Dr. Cuddy. She'll take care of your wounds now" the doctor, the same as before, said.

Next to him, there was a young woman, probably in her twenties.

Right. Of course she wasn't his Cuddy. He was a fool for believing it, even just for a few seconds.

The doctor was about to leave, when the girl stopped him.

"Wait, you mean by myself?!" she asked him, somewhat excited.

Great. A med student.

"I want a real doctor" House stated, drawing their attention back to him. No way he'd let a student put her hands on him. Plus, he really would have liked someone with a different name. Too many memories. Too much pain.

"Mr. Hughes, I'm afraid that…"

"I said I want a real doctor!" he snapped.

The girl looked at the doctor, clearly embarrassed. "It's okay" she said "I can be helpful somewhere else"

But he shook his head, then looked at House again.

"Mr. Hughes, you were very lucky today, your wounds are superficial, but not everyone was as lucky as you were, and our _real doctors_ are busy helping those people" he explained calmly "Dr. Cuddy here is our most promising student, I'm sure you will get along just fine"

And with that, he left.

Dr. Cuddy smiled gently at House. "Hello" she said tentatively.

He didn't greet her back. If she was his only choice, then be it, but that didn't mean he had to talk to her.

He saw her walking around, checking his file, and wearing the gloves. "We'll start with the one on the shoulder, sir" she said, taking a seat next to him.

"How many of these have you made before?" he asked. He already had one ugly scar, he didn't want others.

"A few" she replied.

"I mean by yourself. And successfully"

She bit her lip. "Then you're the first"

He realized he appreciated her honesty, and the fact that she was respecting his times. She was sitting there, next to him, ready to numb him up, but she was waiting for him to give her his consent.

She was either going to be an amazing doctor, or an awful one.

"It used to turn me on when chicks said that" he said eventually, before lying back on the bed.

She giggled.

He quickly found out she wasn't bad for a beginner. He glanced at her while she worked: she looked focused, careful, but her hands were extremely delicate. It looked like she knew what she was doing.

"You're not bad" he said.

She gave him a warm smile. "Thank you sir"

"Back in my days, we would have done it differently, but it looks fine"

She looked up, as if what he said had suddenly caught her attention.

"You're a doctor?" she asked.

"I was… Some time ago"

She was genuinely curious now. "Really? What did you do?"

"I had two specialties, nephrology and infectious diseases. But I worked a lot as diagnostician" he replied, without giving too much detail.

He hadn't talked about his old, real job in a very long time.

"Diagnostician? That's cool" Dr. Cuddy commented "I'd love to do that, but I'm not that good with puzzles"

He was tempted to say something mean, but he didn't.

"So what are you going to do?" he asked instead.

"I don't really know yet… I think I'd like oncology"

He couldn't help smiling. He used to mock oncologists, but now, after cancer took away from him both his best friend and the woman he loved, he kind of supported them.

"Good choice" he said.

"Thanks… but I'm not sure yet!" she continued "I mean, I'm more sure of what I _don't_ want to do…. Like endocrinology, for example. My mother was an endocrinologist, and I always found it pretty boring…"

She said something else after that, but he wasn't listening anymore.

 _My mother was an endocrinologist._

House looked better at her. Averagely tall, brown hair, blue eyes. Young. Very young.

Had fate just played him the ultimate trick? Was this young woman Lisa Cuddy's daughter?

He forbade himself to even consider this option. The world was probably full of endocrinologists called Cuddy. He wouldn't hope anymore. He was done with hope many years ago.

But what if he was right instead?

This option wouldn't leave him be. He tried to read the tag with her full name, but he couldn't. His eyesight had been failing him often lately.

She kept talking, and suturing him, and all he could think about was asking her one simple question.

"Are you…" he started. Then, the words died in his throat. Was he really asking this? Where had his rational mind gone? There were more than eight billion people in the world. What were the chances of this girl being one of his Cuddys?

"Yes?" she prompted him.

Despite his thoughts, he went for it.

"Are you, by any chance, Lisa Cuddy's daughter?" he asked.

Then the world stopped, for a few seconds, until a wide happy grin appeared on her face.

"Oh my God, yes! Yes, how... How did you know?"

He couldn't believe his own ears, and the joy that pervaded him in that precise moment. He didn't let that show, though.

"I… used to work with your mom… or _for_ her, that's more appropriate" he said. Although he would have loved to tell her his real identity (maybe she would remember him?), he couldn't. Plus, there was no real point. Lisa Cuddy was dead.

"Really? I don't think she's ever mentioned your name"

"It was back in Princeton, a lifetime ago… you were very young, if I remember correctly"

"Oh, right… yeah, I was like three when we left. I have no memories of that place"

He couldn't help feeling slightly disappointed, because a very small part of him was hoping she would remember him, but rationally that was just not possible. He'd been in her life for only a few months, when she was no more than a toddler.

He thought again about this last detail. She was a little too young to be suturing his wounds, or maybe he'd just lost track of time.

"How old are you now?" he asked her.

"I'll be 22 in a few days" she replied.

"And you're already in med school?"

She laughed softly. "Yes, first year"

They talked more. He found out now first year med students were taught basic ER procedures (the world does change!), he told her about his job as diagnostician, about some cases he solved, about some patients he remembered.

"I think we're done, sir" she said after a while, removing her gloves "can I call someone for you?"

He looked down. So, their time together was already over. He thought it was better than nothing, although he would have liked to know more about the woman she'd become.

"There's no one to call" he replied instead "but thanks"

He slowly reached his wheelchair. He'd been using one for about a year now. He kept using his cane until he had to surrender to the fact that he no longer could.

As he sat down, he heard her voice again.

"Wait… my shift ends in one hour. I could drive you home" she proposed "in exchange for more stories about whiny patients"

He looked up at her. She'd become a good person too, like her mother, like James Meyer, like James Wilson.

"I don't want to waste your time" he said.

"It would be a pleasure, really"

He smiled. "Then thank you, Dr. Cuddy"

"You can call me Rachel" she said.

As she walked away, he felt some tears stinging in his eyes.

* * *

Rachel drove him home, like she'd said, and he invited her inside for a hot drink. He was actually surprised when she accepted, he was just an old guy after all.

They talked a lot. She was extremely interested in hearing some of his most memorable cases, and the more they talked, the more House could see Cuddy in her. The way Cuddy spoke, the way she smiled, the way she moved, the sound of her voice, the color of her eyes, all of that was in this young woman right before him.

He thought he'd gone insane, because they weren't biologically related, but it was all there right in front of his eyes, he couldn't deny it.

He wondered if he could have seen himself in her too, if that one time so many years ago he'd acted differently.

"So what, she lied although she knew she was risking her own life?" she asked, after he told her about another case.

"People are morons"

"But how did you figure out that she was lying?"

"Well, everybody lies" he replied, shrugging.

He could see a slight flinch across her face, a change in her gaze in hearing that sentence.

"Is that so?" she asked.

He could see it was a rhetorical question, and gave her a puzzled look. She was staring at him in the eyes.

"You're not… you're not George Hughes, are you?" she started tentatively "your name's Gregory House, isn't it?"

His jaw dropped, and his heart started beating faster in his chest. He hadn't heard that name in a very long time, but mostly he would have never expected to hear it again from Rachel Cuddy.

"Ho-how did you…?" he stammered, but he couldn't even finished the sentence.

"I'd tried to find you" she said, playing with the mug she was holding in her hands, "my mom had pretty bad days during chemo, and sometimes she called your name… so I tried to find you, googled you, I thought it would make her feel better, but according to the Internet you were dead"

He felt as if his heard had been ripped out of his chest. He should have been there with her, with them.

"Then during a good day she told me your story… how you were actually alive somewhere. She told me you'd arranged a meeting in Philadelphia, but she felt sick and never made it…" she continued.

He tried to contain his emotions. "But how did you recognize me?"

She gave him a tiny smile, and took out her phone from her pocket. She looked for something in it, then put it right in front of him on the table. On the screen, there was a picture of them playing together in her room in Princeton, so many years ago. He'd never seen that picture before.

"You still pretty much look like yourself" she explained "and the toddler is me, by the way"

He had to blink back some tears. "I know"

So she'd known about him all along. That was why she'd been so nice to him. That was why she offered to drive him home. That was why she accepted his invitation for a hot drink. She was just as smart as her mom.

"You're pretty good with puzzles after all… I think you should go for diagnostics if you like it" he said, still looking at the picture.

He heard her laugh softly.

"Do you have more pictures in here?" he asked.

"Of us?...No… but I have more of my childhood and teenage years in that folder…"

He started sliding the pictures with a finger, one by one. Rachel in a pink tutu at a dance show. Rachel and a bunch of other children doing funny smirks. Rachel with a purple backpack on what looked like her first day in first grade. Rachel at the zoo carried by a man, probably one of Cuddy's partners. Rachel and Cuddy baking a cake. Rachel and Cuddy in Istanbul. Rachel and another kid at a science fair. Rachel, Cuddy, Julia, Arlene and other people at a Jewish ceremony. Rachel and another girl holding the passes to a concert. Rachel and her friends at an amusement park. Rachel with a boy at the school prom.

There, under his eyes and fingers, was the life he never lived, the life he'd given up on. He could have had it all. He could have been with them in all the pictures. He could have been a husband, a father. He could have been happy.

If only he could go back.

"That was right before the diagnosis" he heard her say. She was leaning over the table to look at the phone with him.

It was a picture of her and Cuddy in a garden, smiling at the camera.

"We were waiting for the results of the biopsy… they called her four days later. She was in London for work when they called to confirm that it was ovarian cancer" she added.

He remembered having seen Cuddy in London, once. He remembered how miserable she looked. Maybe it was that day.

The next picture was clearly Rachel's graduation ceremony from high school.

The one in the picture was the Cuddy he'd seen the last time. Skinny, bald, sick, although in the picture she had a beautiful proud smile. Maybe love could do that too.

"When did she… when did she pass away?" he asked hesitantly.

"Who?"

He looked up from the screen to meet Rachel's confused eyes.

"Y-your mother"

"What? She's not dead"

In that moment, he felt the weight of the world on his shoulders.

Lisa Cuddy was alive?

"She's doing pretty well actually" Rachel continued.

He still couldn't fully process this. "But… you kept talking of her in the past tense, said she _was_ an endocrinologist!"

"Yeah I mean, she's not a doctor anymore, but she's fine… she's been cancer free for almost four years… I thought you knew"

He looked away.

He had to see her.

Cuddy was alive somewhere in the world, just like he was, and he needed to see her. He needed to tell her how sorry he was for everything, how much he'd missed her.

"Where is she now?" he asked.

"She owns a Bed & Breakfast in San Francisco… she kinda followed me when I got accepted here at Stanford"

House didn't know what to say. He'd been living in California for a couple of years now, and all this time they were relatively close, and he never bothered checking if she was actually dead or not. He'd trusted his instinct.

But she was alive, she had fought and won her battle against cancer, and he was looking forward to hugging her again.

"I'm driving there for Thanksgiving tomorrow" Rachel said "you should come too… I think she will be happy to see you"

And he did.

The next morning, she picked him up and they drove together to San Francisco.

He still couldn't believe this, he'd thought about Cuddy the whole night, and in about one hour he was going to see her again after five years, maybe kiss her again after _twelve_ years.

The only thing that bothered him was this annoying need to pee. He should have gone to the bathroom again before leaving.

They soon arrived at the Bed & Breakfast.

"Wait here" Rachel said, as she opened the door.

"Mom? I'm here!" she shouted.

Then, although he was still outside, he could here Cuddy's voice, asking her daughter how the journey was. It was a bit lower than usual, but it was her voice, and it made him the happiest man on earth.

He really needed to pee though.

"I have a surprise for you" he heard Rachel say.

That was when he slowly moved in in his wheelchair, and he saw her.

He saw Cuddy's astonished face, he saw her eyes filling with tears. She was as skinny as the last time he saw her, but she looked healthy, and her hair was growing back, although it wasn't black anymore, but a nice shade of gray. To him, she was still the most beautiful woman on earth.

"You…" she whispered, her voice shaking.

She slowly walked towards him, and sat on his lap, wrapping her arms around him.

She wasn't sobbing, but he could feel her tears against the skin of his neck. He was pretty sure she could feel his too, like that time in Moscow.

"You're alive" he whispered, stroking her back. He could feel her bones under his hand. She was so fragile.

He loved her so much.

She squeezed him even tighter. Then, she found his lips with hers and kissed him.

Although his bladder was literally exploding, he kissed her back, because he'd already waited too much time to do so and the happiness he felt in that precise moment was more overwhelming than any other feeling.

He'd found her again now.

Nothing could divide them. Ever.

"I love you" he whispered against her lips, before kissing her again.

* * *

 _Soooo... for those of you who liked this, and are happy about the way it went, then this is the end! For those of you (like me!) who think this ended up being a litte bit too bittersweet, and wished things had gone differently, then stay tuned ;)_


	5. Part Zero

_Okay, here I am with the last update, sorry for the delay. It wasn't originally planned, but as I wrote the story I realized the ending I had in mind wasn't happy enough... hence, this. If it disappoints you, feel free to ignore it and pretend I never wrote it!_

 _I don't think I'm going to write an epilogue, although I'm tempted, but unfortunately I haven't had much free time since I moved! So I think this is it._

 _Thanks to all of you who read this crazy thing! Enjoy :)_

* * *

"I love you" he repeated, once again, his eyes closed in passion "I love you Cuddy"

Then, he opened his eyes, but in front of him there wasn't Cuddy.

There was an empty pillow, and an annoying light, that made him want to turn away.

He wasn't with Cuddy. He wasn't in a wheelchair. He wasn't in San Francisco. He was lying in a bed, and he had an urgent need to pee.

 **October 20** **th** **, 2013, Princeton, USA**

It took him a couple of seconds before the reality of things hit him hard.

He took his phone and looked at the time on it. It was past 12 pm. He'd been sleeping for more than twelve hours.

He'd been _sleeping_.

His journeys around the world, Rachel, Cuddy, it had all been a dream. It had felt damn real though.

He could still feel in his stomach the warmth of Cuddy's kisses, of her closeness. It was a beautiful feeling.

But it wasn't real. It was just the result of tiredness and morphine. He actually should have understood it sooner. First, there was no such thing as fate in the real world, so no way he could have met Cuddy all those times just like that. And that was also why adult Rachel looked like her mother so much. It wasn't love. It was his mind messing around. Then all those times in which he felt unable to walk or move, those were signs of unconsciousness too.

All those time in which it felt like a dream… it was because it was a dream.

As he went to the bathroom to pee, finally, he thought about it again. Had his mind tried to tell him something? Was really that the kind of life he was going to live?

And Cuddy… she was unexpected. He thought he'd moved on. He thought he'd forgotten her, after more than two years since their break-up. And instead there he was, dreaming of being with her again, dreaming of telling her he loved her, dreaming of making love to her.

Maybe he did love her, still.

He didn't know. He couldn't understand. What he did know was that in that precise moment, he would have loved to call her, to talk to her, for real. Maybe he would do so, later.

What he did right there and then, instead, after a nice shower, was to call Stacy.

She'd left him her business card the evening before, she wanted to help him get his life back.

After the dream he'd made that night, he decided to give this a shot, call her and just hear what she had in mind. The feeling of loneliness he felt that night was enough for the rest of his life.

"Greg! Nice to hear from you" she said on the phone.

"Yeah… listen, about that thing you told me yesterday, I thought about it… and I'm free tomorrow for lunch to talk"

He could almost hear her grin.

"Why not tonight for dinner?" she asked.

"I have plans with Wilson later" he replied.

He hadn't, of course, not real plans. He just wanted to spend a little more time with him.

He drove to the cemetery later on, while he started reconsidering his own actions, as the feelings and emotions that came from his dreams started to fade away slowly. Maybe calling Stacy was a bad idea. He didn't want to go back to prison. Maybe he could have a fun life, being dead and all.

He also realized there was no point in contacting Cuddy. This was the real world, a world where she hated him, where she hadn't come to his funeral.

A world where their relationship had miserably failed, and their friendship too.

As he approached Wilson's grave, however, he noticed there was someone standing in front of it.

It wasn't just someone. Cuddy.

House pinched his arm trying to wake up, but this time it didn't look like a dream. He knew he was awake, and he couldn't explain why, even here, he would bump into Cuddy just like that.

Maybe it was fate. Maybe it existed, after all.

He had to make a choice now. Talk to her, or walk away, hide somewhere until she was gone. The latter was the option he preferred, otherwise he would have needed to tell her the story, and pray she wouldn't call the police.

In his dream, so many times she walked away from him, without acknowledging his presence. Now, it was his time to walk away from her without her noticing.

But, just as he was going to slowly walk away, she turned around and saw him.

At this point, he would have expected her reaction to be like the one she had in his dream, in China (had he really dreamed of seeing her in _China_? God how much morphine did he actually take?). Instead, after a second of surprise, a half smile appeared on her lips. It didn't look like she was seeing a ghost at all.

"Hey" she said.

"Hi there" he greeted back. He didn't really know how to feel about this.

Apparently, she didn't know it either.

"I'm not dead" he said after a few seconds of embarrassing silence.

"I can see"

"Did Wilson tell you too?"

"Yeah… he did"

He rolled his eyes. Had Wilson told everyone they knew?

"I'm sorry for your loss" she said.

He nodded. He started feeling the same way he felt with Stacy the day before. He wanted her to leave. He wanted to be alone with his grief.

Or maybe having her so close and so far away at the same time was more painful than not having her at all.

"How are you?" she asked, much to House's surprise. He could understand that Wilson had contacted everybody who could possibly help him, but he couldn't see why she, of all people, would care.

"Right, because we are friends again now… I mean, it's not like you didn't even come to my funeral" he replied, somewhat upset.

She looked down. "I'm sorry about that… I just couldn't"

He felt something soften inside him. "Why?"

"Because… for months I wished you to suffer, to be in pain, to pay for what you did… and then you died… I just couldn't"

"So you don't hate me anymore, just because I was dead?"

"Death changes things" was her simple answer.

He could hardly hide the disappointment he felt inside. He thought she'd changed his mind about him. Instead, it was just good old hypocrisy, the hating-the-living-loving-the-dead thing.

"Right" he said.

She took a few steps towards him. "But it's not just that"

With those words, she took a white envelope out of her coat pocket and handed it to him.

"He told me what you did… for him" she explained softly, while he took out a letter out of the envelope and glanced through it. It was Wilson's handwriting.

He started reading, word after word, and suddenly he found himself drowning in memories. It was the story of their road trip, of the places they visited, the weird people they met, the fun anecdotes they shared. It was never written explicitly, but those were the words of a person that enjoyed every minute of his time.

House had to fight to not start crying right there and then. He missed his friend so much.

He almost didn't notice that nowhere in the letter Cuddy was directly asked to rescue House. Never. It just said to take care of herself and Rachel.

After one last effort to blink back tears, he looked up at her.

"He didn't ask you to take care of me" he stated.

"He didn't"

"So this is just you"

"It's just me" she repeated.

He wanted to ask why, but he didn't. It didn't really matter after all.

He limped past her towards the grave, and sat next to it. She sat with him.

"You didn't answer my question… how are you?" she asked again.

"I'm okay" he answered.

"What are your plans now?"

"I heard Brazil has hot bitches and cool beaches" he replied, considering the idea for real. It could work out much better than in his dream.

There was a moment of silence.

"New York is a nice place too" she said.

He turned his head to look at her, and met her eyes.

"You live in New York now, don't you?" he asked. During the last couple of years, for various reasons, he never tried to contact her. He just read the address on the envelope Wilson sent her.

She nodded. "I do, yeah"

He tried to process that information. Why would she possibly ever want him to live in her same city again, when she had moved there specifically to avoid him?

He thought he could read something in her eyes, not quite forgiveness though, but she wanted to allow him back to her life. She wanted him close to her again, maybe not physically, but he believed whatever she wanted could be enough.

"Why?" was all he could ask.

"Because I care about you. I wish I didn't, but I can't help it"

He'd already heard those words somewhere.

"What's your husband going to say?" he asked.

"My what?"

"Your husband, or boyfriend, or whatever. The guy sitting next to you yesterday"

She almost laughed. "Mike? He's just a friend! A very supportive one, but just a friend"

"I could see his arm around your shoulders, you know"

"If you looked better, you could have also seen his _male partner_ sitting on the other side"

He couldn't help being happy at the news. So, she was still single.

He didn't know if he actually had a chance with her or not, he wasn't even sure he wanted one, because of how things ended the last time.

But they were both alive. They were young. They were healthy.

He could still have the life he unconsciously wanted.

He felt something new inside him, something he hadn't felt in a long time: hope.

They remained there, sitting in silence with Wilson, a little longer.

"Are you hungry?" she asked, some time later.

"A little" he replied. And he was. For the first time in days, his body craved food.

They left the cemetery together, walking side by side, their hands randomly brushing against each other.


End file.
